Back from the Brink of the Final Frontier

2003: A Mental Odyssey

Growing up in a happy, healthy home at the start of the 21st century, my family never imagined we would enter a new “dimension”—serious mental illness. As if transported to an alternate reality, symptoms of bipolar disorder and psychosis appeared in me, leaving us bewildered.

At first glance, turning sixteen was the next step in the natural course of my life. That birthday landed on the precipice of a new school year and the transfer to a different school. For someone on the outside, I handled changing schools as well as could be expected. As this life event dovetailed with another teenage birthday, no one suspected the initial spiral into clinical depression. Unbeknownst to me or my family, the subtle lows of the illness were just the start of a rocky road to the brink of what my dad called the “final frontier,” the brain. 

Upon the transition, my thought process slowed, newly formed friendships fell apart, and unexplainable fatigue drained my heart into dejection. No one, including myself, had a clue how crippling this altered reality of mine would become. The psychological duress that raked my mind across coals of internal anguish was a new normal for my maladjustment to the different school environment.

Happy Home, Troubled Mind

Before this state of mind, I’d grown into a creative, introspective, and otherwise well-rounded teenager: excelling academically, growing my musical skills in piano and French horn, and competing at varsity-level cross-country races; all my accomplishments benefited from a solid foundation in my youth. My parents were contentedly married, my older brother was my role model, and my neighbors, friends, and fellow students were a community I knew and trusted. The fabric of who I was and the surrounding people in my life were safe and stable.

Imagine the shock to me and my family from the onset of this illness. My mind descended into an overwhelming state of hopelessness, self-hate, and suicidality. It felt like I’d walked into an escape room without any clues to set myself free. The enclosing dark began to grip my psyche until New Year’s Eve, when the fog lifted. Without warning, my paradigm shifted. Mania waltzed onto the scene.

The flights of grandiose thinking.

The hopeless romanticism of a schoolgirl crush.

The sheer delight of simple coincidences.

The euphoric highs of creative expression.

At first glance, I seemed to be returning to my usual self—improvising show tunes on the piano, drawing caricatures of my classmates, and praying with a renewed fervor in my faith.

Curiouser and Curiouser

Another dimension of the illness’s paradigm shift was compounding anxiety. Fear of the unknown lurched into the foreground of my mind, whether it was the dark of my bedroom closet at night, or the way classmates looked at me when I asked a question. This irrational bridge to the brink of my psyche gave way to a new reality—paranoia.

My mind quickly unraveled, revealing how sick I truly was.

When I sat down to a test one morning in class and saw a spiral doodle scrawled across the page, memories from a scary movie pierced my mind's eye. This supposedly random mark on my paper set me off, and I took off on a mad sprint down the hall to the nurse. She called my parents to her office as my hallucinations ebbed and flowed.

“Did you hear Michael calling my name? Just now, in the hallway?” I asked nurse Nancy about the classmate I'd obsessed over since the first month of school. She looked at me, puzzled, as I hallucinated. My confusion fed panic. Once my parents arrived at her office, they took me to the psychiatrist and then admitted me to the local juvenile psych unit later that day.

Coming To: Faithful Progress

Through the combined healing approaches of psychotropics and counseling during three weeks of inpatient care, plus two months of outpatient therapy, my sanity returned. My mind was finally at peace. The literal brainstorm that opened my alter-reality and “own little world” quelled at last.

Shortly thereafter, an official diagnosis of bipolar disorder type I with psychotic features had freed me to identify and explain my warped reality I’d journeyed through that year. Equipped with the tools of therapy and medications to manage my sickness, success followed. I finished high school on time, graduated college summa cum laude four years later, and met, got engaged, and married the man of my dreams a year after that. But, as my confidence in myself grew, so did a mix of other beliefs.

Misguided to Setback

As a Christian from a young age, I always believed that God could do miracles and that He is the same God as the one in the Bible. The summer after my first episode at sixteen, I attended a healing service where the minister declared me healed in Jesus’ name. In my heart, I wanted to receive healing from bipolar disorder. Eight years later, while listening to a televangelist's sermons on TV, I clung to the fixed notion that I was healed and mustered the blind faith to taper off my psych meds. 

I attribute this decision to a combination of factors at play: naivety, misguidance, pride, denial, and lack of insight, or anosognosia. In hindsight, it’s obvious to me that anosognosia was a significant factor in living in my “own little world” at sixteen, and my regression into manic psychosis at twenty-four. Anosognosia is a symptom of serious mental illness that keeps one from realizing they are sick at all. A byproduct of this symptom is a blind spot where the person who is sick doesn't realize their medicine is the reason they maintain stability.

2012: On the Brink Again

Again, like at sixteen, I was hospitalized for delusional thoughts, skewed moods, and outbursts of behavior. This time, I was held captive against my will with more than forty other adults battling the wilderness of their illnesses at the brink of their final frontiers. 

Within the confined, stark layout of the psych hospital, my sick mind fought symptoms that manifested as spiritual, metaphysical, in addition to physical and emotional. Paranoia, irritability, euphoria, hallucinations, and delusions flooded my being. While I struggled internally, external pressures mounted—the constant change in daily schedules, the pressure from clinicians to try new medications, and the unpredictable actions of the other patients berated my psyche. I needed a break from the symptoms, collective isolation, and unfeeling treatment from staff and patients I witnessed moment to moment. 

Eleven days later, the hospital discharged me, albeit unjustly, as my symptoms had not improved. I returned two weeks later, having flown across the country to be in my cousin’s wedding, while deteriorating to the point of urgently needing inpatient care again. This chapter of my life closed after totaling three months in and out of local hospitals that tried my patience, faith, and sanity. A keen nurse reintroduced me to the medications I’d originally weaned off, and my mind eventually returned from the brink.

Back to The Future: Where I Am Today

More than a dozen years later, I continue to follow a call to advocate for those whisked away to the brink by these illnesses of the final frontier. My efforts for those who suffer from serious mental illness like mine encompass various enterprises. I joined the National Shattering Silence Coalition (NSSC) in 2022, serving on the steering and communication committees and leading the organization through a transition period after the founder’s passing. I co-chair a committee and serve as the graphics specialist, spreading the message of our organization as widely as possible online and in-person. The NSSC seeks to educate the public about the realities of these illnesses, enacting change at various levels of influence.

As a creator, I’ve documented my journey through my bipolar episodes in my memoir, But Deliver Me from Crazy. This work, blogging, speaking at events, hosting an annual mental health and faith awards, engaging on social media platforms, and continuing in nonprofit activities, is my life calling. My tagline is “sharing bold, brave, and real insight to enlighten.” My artistic creativity also continues to flourish through my freelance business, sans the manic highs. I share my story and the hope of healing to encourage families with loved ones who are suffering from illnesses so they may be strengthened and supported. 

For those who wonder where hope lies, I point to my journey. No matter what wreckage these illnesses can bring, no matter the depths of desperation, there is a light that dawns each day. Darkness doesn’t have the final say over this final frontier, nor does a diagnosis of serious mental illness determine the limits of life. With hope in one’s heart and help for one’s head, a safe and stable life can unfold. We who carry the scars of stories like mine are not meant to hide or cover them but offer them as evidence that there is a way through the confusion. 

Back to reality. 

Back to charted, tamed territory. 

Back from the brink of the final frontier.

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Katie R. Dale is an advocate, author, and artist. Her passion is to reconcile the two unseen realms of mental and spiritual, sharing bold, brave, and real "insight to enlighten." As a former NSSC Coordinator and Delight in Disorder Ministries President, she advocates to help the plight of those affected by SMI/SBDs. Her writing is featured in her debut memoir, But Deliver Me from Crazy (Communikated Publishing, 2020), various anthologies, blogs, and media outlets. She currently resides in Germany with her husband, Chris and daughter, Kylie. Learn more about her on her website, KatieRDale.com and follow her on social @KatieRDale.